


You Want It Darker

by Mikimoo



Series: Like a Bird on the Wire [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-09-05 19:02:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16816579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikimoo/pseuds/Mikimoo
Summary: After the events of This Night, Jason is still trying to make sense of things and Dick has completely withdrawn. Then Slade comes to collect from Jason, and the repercussions from the mission in Santa Prisca start to really hit home.It's a good thing they're such well balanced and sensible individuals or things could get very messy.For Pentapus, who encouraged people to vote through the power of art, and for IamJasonssmirkingrevenge, who is to blame for everything.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pentapus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pentapus/gifts).



> Warnings. Angst, trauma, Discussion and semi graphic description of non-con. Unhealthy coping mechanisms, Slade, Murder, Sex clubs, Slade attempting to be nice (he is not very good at it), Bruce. Slight artistic licence taken regarding the law in Gotham. Little bit of Slade/Jason and a little bit more of Slade/Dick.
> 
> Probably more warnings to come as I'm only half way through my outline (It's already 7k whoops).
> 
> Thank you to Sharon for the Beta!

In the weeks following their return from The Mission, Jason had given Dick his space when it looked like he needed it, but he couldn’t quite quell his need to keep an eye on him; and okay, that need might have gotten a little out of hand, and possibly become a little creepy. 

But he was worried. Dick, naturally, had objected strenuously to surveillance, had in fact told him that if he couldn’t bring himself to use the phone instead of binoculars and cameras then he could fuck off. Jason had just dug in deeper – he was aware that part of the issue lay with the fact he just didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t want to have weird stilted conversations about the weather when all he could think about was Dick being hurt, and what had happened to him. He didn’t want Dick to know how things had changed between them. Jason just flat out saw him different now – and that sucked. 

It wasn’t a negative thing, exactly, and it certainly wasn't that he thought less of him, but he had been victimised. He was a victim. Lots of people were; arguably Jason himself was, of statutory rape at least (he refused to view it as anything else).

But it was  _ Dick _ , who was… just so much to him. Mentor, brother, teenage crush (who was he kidding? Grown-ass-man crush), enemy, rival, friend. It was too much to sort through, and he didn't want Dick to see that process in his eyes.

So he kept up the surveillance until Dick caught him, saw something in his face that upset him, and kicked him off the roof. Jason’s fault, of course – he had been so consumed with guilt and anxiety, he hadn’t fought back – which had enraged Dick to the point of serious violence. 

After that, Dick had shut him out completely. Jason had nursed his broken nose and busted cheekbone and fumed and worried. 

To be fair, Dick had shut out everyone else too, even before Jason. This had the strange effect of causing the Baby Bats to pitch up on  _ his _ doorstep unannounced like the little plague of flying rodents they were. He quickly discovered there was no hiding from Tim, and in true lawful evil form, he was only too happy to pass on his intel about Jason’s whereabouts to the rest of the crew. 

Jason would return home to find Steph snoring on his sofa, boots up on his coffee table and getting grit on his paperwork, or Damian rooting through his stuff looking for fuck knows what. And some asshole (it could only be Cass) would ghost in without setting off his alarms and eat the leftovers from his fridge – and that girl ate a  _ lot _ . It was tiring, aggravating - but in some small way it also helped take his mind off Dick. 

Maybe that was the point. 

At night he dreamed about it though. About what might have happened, about what  _ had _ happened. It mingled with his own nightmares like a toxic gas, invading his sleep and slithering like poison through the cracks in his defences, and the lack of sleep was making him sloppy. Dick had stopped using comms and put up lead-lined shutters, the bastard. Even Babs’ Grayson Cam had been shut down - or at least he was barred from the network. Didn’t stop them all spying on him though. 

Eventually Bruce had called Jason in to demand an explanation - which he refused to give. No doubt he had demanded one from Dick, too. And that had obviously gone super well, what with Bruce being so subtle and emotionally open. 

But overall – Dick seemed to be getting on with things, even if he was doing so alone. He was going to work, sleeping for a few hours then hitting the roof tops. Situation normal. 

Jason was not doing so good. Was it possible to have PTSD over someone else’s trauma? He guessed so.  
  


Then three months after The Mission that ruined everyone life, Slade called in his favour. 

The timing was bad. Dick had told Bruce he was going away for a bit, and not to worry and then disappeared. Jason had gone to Tim as a person more likely than Babs to give him the info if Dick didn’t want it known. But the thing with Tim was that even though he very rarely, if ever, lied, he was more than capable of turning the truth inside out, twisting it around and neatly wrapping it before handing it to you and sending you in the wrong direction. 

If it wasn’t so fucking annoying Jason would have mad respect for the Machiavellian little shit. 

Tim had told him straight up – he’s fine. I know where he is, leave him to it. I’ll call you if there is an issue, I promise.  _ Blah, blah, blah.  _ Jason had to take it at face value. He probably shouldn't have but then Slade had turned up in his kitchen one night, eating a Kebab and smirking insufferably. 

“Help yourself, Red,” he said, gesturing to a wrapped package on a second plate. “We’ve got work to do.”

So, Dick was going to have to wait. But Jason didn’t have to like it.   
  


“My employer wants me to find his son’s killers,” Slade said, as they drove towards New York.

Sitting next to him was making Jason’s skin crawl with nervous energy. Every part of him was registering Slade as a threat, and not just some guy cruising up the highway in a nondescript SUV. 

“You couldn't get a better car?” Jason grumbled, to take his mind off the way the hair on his arms was trying to stand up in alarm. 

Slade glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. “Not so good with the idea of undercover are you? The plan is not to stand out or get noticed. Nice cars get noticed.” 

“Right,” Jason sighed. “Yeah. So why did the son get offed in the first place?”

Slade hummed a little. “He was a party boy, a rich kid, wild and a little loose on the morals.”

“Loose how?” 

“He got in with some nasty people, organised crime. Just on the periphery; he wasn’t pulling any strings, just attending parties and spending like crazy. He pissed off the wrong people, flapped his mouth a little.” Slade nudged the car into the slow lane to let a sweet mustang pass. Jason looked at it wistfully. Slade was not only driving an old lady car, he was driving  _ like  _ one too. 

“So, what constitutes wild parties? Drugs, sex or something else?”

“Very astute, Red. They involved sex, drugs and BDSM.”

“What is it with you and that shit?” Jason asked. He was already dreading the undercover part of this little outing.

“In my personal life or for work?” Slade asked mildly.

Jason ground his teeth so hard he felt like some of them might crack right off his gums. “Both.”

“I enjoy certain aspects and aesthetics of the life. I partake in the correct manner – fully consensual and safe.”

“Gross image, but okay. Work?”

“Just lucky. Unlike some of the participants in the clubs our party boy attended, who were not exactly willing. I have no idea if he was aware of that, or if he was just enjoying a good time.”

“He sounds like a real peach. In what way were they not willing?”

“Drugged and trafficked. The usual ways.”

Jason felt his pulse skyrocket. “Any connection to ZK12?”

Slade exhaled slowly and took his time answering, which was incredibly aggravating. “Possibly. Probably, even. That will be the angle for you to explore. I have taken out huge swaths of their operations in South America and the US – it’s only natural other organisations would want to muscle in on their territory now that they are weak. And the smarter members jumped ship and joined with the newcomers.”

“So my job is finding out if there connected to ZK12? And then we rescue them, right?”

“Sure, if you want to. You’re here mostly as something pretty people can look at while I work. I’m here to kill the murderers of the party boy. That’s it.

Jason scowled a little, and sneered as he caught sight of himself in the mirror. “Hate to break it to you, Gramps, but I ain't the pretty one in the family.”

“Perhaps not in the way Grayson, or even Drake are,” Slade agreed in a smooth tone that made Jason shiver slightly. “But straight up pretty boys aren't what I need. The proprietress and her husband both like their men the same – big, butch, bratty subs. Newbies, where the fear under the bravado and brawn is real.”

“I hate you.”

“I don’t particularly care. You signed yourself up for this, Red, and I’m going to take complete advantage of it.”

Jason scowled harder, then tried to wipe away the expression – it was only making Slade more smug. He couldn't help but think back to the last time; the time when Slade had to rescue him from that club. Fuck he hoped it wasn’t the same one. It wasn’t just the memory of the vulnerability and the panic that was making him squirm, it was the remembered feel of Slade's big hands on him. Comforting him with a firm touch and strong steady strokes along his flanks, like he was a spooked horse. It made him one part turned on and two parts scared out of his mind. And which ever way you looked at it, it was skeevy as fuck. 

They drove in silence for a while, as Jason stewed in his anger and anxiety. Then Slade had to go and make it worse.

“How’s Grayson?”

“How should I know?” Jason said harshly. That was probably a mistake, showing it was a sore spot, but he never had been great and controlling his emotions – he just knew how to funnel them into anger.

“Aren’t you two supposed to be joined at the hip? Trauma buddies?”

“Fuck off. He’s a stubborn ass, he’s got to go solo to prove himself or some shit. You know what he’s like.” And that had sounded less frustrated and hurt before it came out of his mouth.

“Hmm, yes I do. I know he is remarkably good at ignoring his hurts, whether they are physical or not. And he works well alone when he wants too. But he needs people, otherwise he doesn't look after himself.”

Jason really didn't like just how well Slade did seem to know Dick, so he just sneered and shrugged. “Why you asking me then?”

“Because I thought you were going to be keeping an eye on him.” 

That seemed slightly accusatory, and Jason didn’t like it. “I  _ tried _ , but he wasn’t having it. He made that perfectly clear. And all my efforts to ‘keep an eye’ on him without his permission were rebuffed and shut down in a very clear and violent manner.” 

“Hmmm,” Slade said. “I would have thought you might have persuaded him, or taken some initiative.” 

“Persuaded him? Have you met him? Have you met me? He doesn’t want me in his life. I’m not going to fucking stick around where I’m not wanted.”

It almost sounded convincing, but the slight curl to Slade's lip indicated he didn't believe it for a second. He shrugged one massive shoulder. “Sometimes, that kid just needs a kick up the butt to get his head on straight.”

“Well, good luck with that,” Jason said, sourly. 

The safe house was a small, one room apartment with a compact living space, kitchenette and a double bed in the far corner. The two seater sofa was too small to sleep on without folding completely in half or having your legs hang completely off the end, and apart from the bed and two stools at the breakfast bar, it was the only other item of furniture. Jason glared at the bed. No way. No  _ fucking _ way. 

Slade was unpacking gear, a look of insufferable calm on his face – calm that could only be hiding a smug smirk, which Jason was starting to suspect was just his natural expression. 

“I’m getting food and supplies,” Jason said, dropping his bag and heading back towards the door.

“I thought we could order take-out,” Slade said, mildly. Jason ignored him. 

“I’m taking the ugly car."

It was late, but there were still a few shops open, and he’d seen a Strip Mall just out of the city. He shopped for consumables first, in the over priced Wholefoods. He assumed Slade's metabolism consumed more than the average amount of calories, so he picked up some protein shakes and bars along with meat, veg and breakfast foods. 

He still felt a bit strange shopping for groceries like a normal person – he felt everyone would look at him and just know he was a criminal. Just like when he had moved in with Bruce and had felt judged for being a common little street kid suddenly thrust into a world of opulence and privilege that he didn’t deserve. Perhaps being a multi-faceted individual meant you never felt like you fit in properly; or perhaps that was just him. Dick certainly appeared to have no issues with it, he adapted and fit in wherever he went, but Jason did have to wonder if it was as much an act as the rest of his carefully constructed behaviour. 

He really had to stop letting his thoughts constantly go back to Dick. It was annoying, and embarrassing, even if it was only him that knew about it.

After food shopping, he hit up Walmart and bought a bedroll and sleeping bag. The hell if he was sharing a bed with Slade fucking Wilson.   
  


When he returned to the tiny apartment, Slade was working on his laptop, his gear neatly stashed by the bed. 

Jason dumped out his bedding and set up his own sleeping area, ignoring the heavy amusement radiating off the assassin as he typed away at whatever he was doing. 

“I’m making pasta,” Jason announced after putting his food away. “Any requests?”

“Can you make a carbonara?” Slade asked, mildly. Like he thought something that simple would trip him up. 

“Yeah.”

“That was surprisingly good, Red,” Slade offered. “One day you’ll make someone a fine wife.”

“Shut the fuck up, you wrinkly old goat,” Jason suggested.

“We should get ready to head out.” Slade stood and placed his plate in the small sink. Jason had been right about the calories – the man put away more food then he and Dick did combined, and they were both big eaters.

“What should I wear?” Jason asked, a with a little trepidation. 

“Your clothes are on the bed. I’m taking a shower.”

The clothes consisted of a jock strap and a pair of leather pants tight enough to make him worry about the possibility of ever fathering children. He wiggled into them regardless, and did a couple of squats to test his ability to move in them. He was slightly concerned they would burst at the seems as the muscles in his thighs bunched. 

“Looking good, Red,” Slade said appreciatively as he left the bathroom dressed only in a towel. 

“I can barely move in these pants. How am I supposed to fight?” Jason asked, attempting and failing to fight down a blush. 

“This is recon, no fighting.”

“Yeah, like that usually works out. Do I at least get a shirt?”

“No.”

“Jacket?”

“No.”

“It’s fucking cold out there, Wilson! Do I at least get boots or are you expecting to walk around New York barefoot?”

“Don’t tempt me, but you may wear your boots. How’s your ankle?”

It took a moment for Jason to remember that the last time they had seen each other he had been grazed by a bullet.

“It’s fine. Full range of motion.” He couldn't help but remember the weird feeling of having his foot in Slade's hand, how easy it would have been for the man to cripple him for life with one squeeze in the right place. It had made him feel itchy and unsafe. 

Trying to concentrate on the task at hand, he went over the plans of the club while he studiously ignored Slade getting ready, and only moved from his own spot on the sofa when Slade was finally done. 

“Right - let’s go.” The old bastard took off without waiting for an answer. 

Out of spite, Jason took his time checking and rechecking the few bits and pieces he could hide on his person, and having a last look at his personal phone. There were three missed calls from Bruce. Had the old man somehow gotten wind of this nonsense? No doubt he would be pissed, or disappointed, that Jason was working with Slade, and Jason couldn’t reveal  _ why _ without explaining things like the fact he had bargained with Slade in exchange for his part in trying to wipe K12 off the face of the earth – and he couldn't explain  _ that _ unless he explained about Dick.

So yeah, Bruce was just going to have to be pissed off and disappointed in him, and Jason was just going to have to suck it up and deal with the underlying feelings of resentment, anger and hurt Bruce’s disapproval  _ still _ always brought up in him. 

But right now? He had to have his head in the game, and dealing with B was never a good way to ensure that happened, so he chucked his phone on his bedroll and followed Slade out the door. 


	2. Chapter 2

  
  


It was a different club, and far more exclusive than the last one Jason had the misfortune to attend with Slade. This one was just a plain building, a big town house with a black door; it looked completely nondescript. 

Slade knocked on the door while Jason shivered in the cold, dressed as he was in the circulation-killing leather pants and combat boots and barely a stitch else. He felt exposed - in more ways than one - and he hated it. He also hated that Slade was dressed in a smart, warm jacket over his black slacks. Fucking bastard made him feel even more uncomfortable by being dressed in normal clothes. 

The door opened to reveal a well dressed woman. Her trouser suit did nothing to disguise her muscled, athletic body, and while she might look like a smart CEO she was definitely the establishments bouncer. 

“Mr White, and guest,” Slade said. 

“Come in, Mr White.” 

They stepped inside and a young man hurried to take Slade's coat. He seemed fascinated by the eye patch and was goggling slightly at the open collar of Slade's black shirt, which showed off plenty of muscled chest. Slade smirked at him and the kid blushed. It pissed Jason off, though he wasn’t sure why, and he wasn’t too keen on finding out either – he just accepted the fact that everything was going to aggravate him or freak him out tonight, and overall he preferred being annoyed.

“You know the rules, Mr White. Please abide by them and have a good night,” the woman said, completely ignoring Jason – something that, once again, got under his skin. He didn’t want to be the centre of attention to these people, not when he was feeling so awkward and off balance, but being ignored and treated like a servant or some extension of Slade not worth acknowledging was really bothering him on some level.

“Thank you,” Slade rumbled. “Come.” He put his hand on the small of Jason's back and steered him to a door at the end of the hall. It took all of Jason's will power not to squirm away from the touch, or to smack him in the teeth. 

The club was dark, sophisticated with surprisingly soft music. He had been expecting something more aggressive, like the last place they had been too. Around the room there were both men and women, dressed in everything from full regency gear to nothing at all. 

“A drink, pet?”

_ Pet _ ? “Whisky. Double,” Jason snarled, unable to keep the emotion from his face. 

“Don’t worry, Red – I won’t let anything happen to you.” Slade patted him like a dog, and Jason indulged in a brief fantasy of breaking off his fingers, one by one. 

“I can look after myself, Mr White.”

“If you say so, pet.”

Jason grit his teeth and downed the drink Slade bought for him. It burned in a familiar, comforting way. Slade waved at the bartender for another. 

Both of them were getting a mix of appreciative and assessing looks. Slade gave off an aura of calm control; he was practically radiating it. Jason suspected he was giving off similarly loud signals – except less cool and in charge and more anxious and surly. Which seemed to be what Slade had been wanting from him, so at least he was doing the right thing in that regard.

Thankfully, despite the looks, nobody touched or even spoke to him, Slade's huge presence overshadowing and protecting him. He thought longingly of the drink in his hand, but he was a professorial and in this environment he really needed his head in the game. 

Instead, he sipped at the second drink, barely letting any pass his lips, and watched the room, where men and women were talking and dancing. One woman seemed to being used as a footstool by another, though she looked perfectly happy about it despite only wearing a see-through skirt. The way her body curved under the other woman’s bare feet was distracting, and Jason decided it was her obvious pleasure that made it so. The scene he had been expecting in here had been a lot less pleasant but, it seemed, in this section of the building at least, people were being respectful. He turned his attention back to Slade, only to find the man looking at him with a contemplative expression on his face. 

“Don’t get ideas, old man,” Jason told him gruffly. Slade's lips twitched in a small smile, but before he could say anything that would lead to Jason having to smack him, a women approached them. She was maybe just shy of fifty, and very attractive in an artfully sculptured way. 

“Mr White,” she said, extending a hand to him.

“My Lady Camellia.”

“I see you have a guest with you.” Her eyes raked up down Jason's chest and leather clad thighs. He felt himself start to blush like a fucking schoolboy under her scrutiny. “He’s quite something. You always did have impeccable taste.” 

“Only the best, my Lady.”

She smiled at him. It had an intimate feel, and Jason suddenly - and inappropriately - wondered if they’d fucked before, or maybe just shared a sub? The image was a strangely appealing one, and he blushed harder. She looked enchanted by the red flush seeping down his chest. 

“My husband wanted to talk business. Perhaps I could escort your guest?” she said

“His name is Red.”

“How lovely. Perhaps I could show Red the rest of the establishment?”

“Indeed. I’m sure he would enjoy that,” Slade smirked, his eye gleaming wickedly. 

Jason was fairly sure he wouldn’t. He glowered at Slade, who responded by lacing his fingers through Jason's hair and tugging his head back. 

“Be a good boy, Red,” Slade said and Jason felt a shiver work its way up from his toes to the top of his head. Fuck this bastard. 

Camellia took his hand, looking up at him in a way that made all the hair on the back of his neck stand up. She was barely taller than his mid chest, but she freaked him out intensely. He told himself to get it together – she was a small, slim, unarmed woman probably twice his age. He had faced down some pretty terrifying and strong people in his time - hell, he’d gone toe to toe with Shiva once. He shouldn’t be so spooked.

“Come on, Red.” She led him though the bar, in to a second room, where there was more dancing and less chatting. At least one couple were having actual sex on the dance floor – but they both seemed to be enjoying it, so Jason paid it little mind. 

They wove through the crowd until they reached a flight of stairs where a large man and a woman stood guard. They let Camellia by with only a nod. “This is the VIP area, Red,” she said as they reached the top of the staircase. “It’s my domain.” She smiled like a shark just before it took a fucking great big bite out of you. 

Jason gave her a smirk that he suspected she saw right through. “Lead on, my Lady,” he said.

Inside was full of lush furnishing and a mix of unclad bar staff and slender, masked ‘helpers’ dressed in form fitting black. Some people were talking, others were having sex. Unlike downstairs, not all the participants seemed to be having a good time. One barely legal girl seemed to be only semi-conscious, her head lolling against the couch she was lying on. It made something in Jason's guts twist up, and the beginning of the green rage swirl through his stomach like acid. He  _ had  _ to keep it together. He just had to wait it out a little longer and then they could free the victims and beat the fuck out of the perps. He marked the guy with the drugged up girl for a slow death if he got the chance. But not yet. He took a steadying breath and followed Camellia in to the dimly lit back room. There was a crowd of people drinking and talking. There was an air of anticipation here, and excitement that Jason felt as menace as eyes swung to him. It was a feeling that had not been present in the other rooms so far.

“Welcome Ladies and Gents,” Camellia said. The crowd fell silent instantly. Hanging on every word. “Come on, Red, don’t be shy,” She said, tugging him forward when his feet wanted to dig in and get the fuck out. Now everyone was watching him, it was profoundly uncomfortable. He wished he had a gun – he didn’t mind people staring at him when he was armed to the teeth and threatening to murder them. 

Towards the back of the room there was a stylised St Andrews Cross, made out of what looked like steel. It appeared extremely ominous to Jason’s mind and he had a sudden burst of fear. They were heading right for it and the intention was clear – but what could he do? Fight? Refuse? Both options would blow their cover out of the water, but if he allowed himself to be strung up on it it was unlikely he would be able to get out on his own. Where the  _ fuck _ was Slade? He was supposed to be watching Jason’s back wasn’t he? He must have known this was where the woman was taking him – so was he planning to come get him out, or leave him there as a distraction? 

Did Jason trust the man enough to take the risk?

Probably not. 

He balked within steps of the contraption, pulling his hand back from the surprisingly strong grip that held his. “I shouldn’t,” he said “Not without Mr White.”

“It’s okay, precious. He won’t mind.”

_ “I _ mind,” Jason snapped. She raised a perfect brow. “I’m his, not yours,” he amended, sullenly. 

“Oh, precious - in here,  _ everyone _ is mine. We won’t do anything you won’t enjoy.” She smiled at him gently but it still put him in mind of a shark or a cat eyeing up a mouse, something mocking in the predatory glint in her eyes. 

He was so focused on that look and the shear power of her presence (how did she  _ do _ that? She was just a person, like everyone else in here) he completely missed the man behind him. He was shoved forward and one wrist fastened into a cuff before he could even orientate himself. Fucking amateur move,  _ stupid _ . The pulley attached to the cuff was yanked back, making him stumble again, and putting him right under the arms of the cross. The move threw his balance enough that Camellia was able to casually fasten the second cuff on him. Then that one was pulled tight too, spreading his arms and forcing him back against the cool steel poles. They felt like ice against his skin, and without thinking, he struggled wildly, hating the way the crowd of people moved closer, scenting blood in the water. 

“Disobedience will be punished,” Camellia ran her fingers over his back and around his chest. “Such a lot of scars for one so young,” she said in a voice like silk, using a finger nail to trace the path across a knife scar on his hip. “Previous masters weren’t so kind? Mr White did say you’d had it rough in the past. That you might put up a fight.”

And  _ that _ was the point he realised he had been set up. Slade wasn’t coming to rescue him, he was off doing his business, leaving Jason here strung up like a piece of meat for these animals to play with. Panic rose in his belly and despite himself he struggled again, uncoordinated, without even testing his bonds properly. Instead he just fought against them; but they held fast, digging into his skin. He couldn’t kick out at the woman behind him, and no one was dumb enough to get in front of him, so he was just twisting in the wind, snarling and fighting like  _ he _ was the animal, not them. 

“My, he wasn’t exaggerating was he, precious. Perhaps harder discipline might be in order. I’m sure Mr White won’t mind, as he did mention a fondness for seeing you bleed.”

Jason expected a blow, or a lash, or something, but it didn’t come. Instead, one of the lithe, masked helpers came forward with a cart which made a creaking sound as she pushed it. She sensibly giving Jason a wide berth, so that he had to crane his neck to see what was on it: A bunch of towels, cloths, and bottles. What the ever loving fuck was she planning to do with that? Give him a sponge bath? Douse him in acid? 

She clicked her fingers and another helper came forward, opening one of the bottles with a twist of his wrist. The smell of antiseptic assaulted Jason’s nose. So it  _ was _ going to be a sponge bath?

Camellia, handed the helper a cloth and he dutifully dumped antiseptic on to it. “We may be able to play, but you’ll be going back to Mr White later, and we wouldn't want you to get an infection from having dirty skin - I mean, who knows where you’ve been?”

The crowed tittered. It wasn’t like she actually cared – everything about this was aimed at dehumanising him. Panic welled up again, alongside a rush of fury; at Slade, at himself, at everybody and everything. How had this spiralled out of his control so fast? 

The black clad helper was smart and moved towards him cautiously, glancing meekly at Camellia until she waved him forward. 

Jason was going to kick him the second he was in range. He didn’t bother hiding his intentions, but the kid managed to skirt the edge of the area he could hit to start his wash down from behind. Jason lunged at him anyway, and the guy made a strangled squawking sound at the sudden movement, then the cold touch of the antiseptic hit Jason’s back and he shuddered as the young man started wiping down Jason's back with brisk efficiency. His touch was smooth and impersonal. 

When he started on Jason's arms, still sensibly keeping his body out of kicking range, Jason turned his head and snarled into his masked face. “I’m going to fucking  _ kill _ you.”

“That would be regrettable,” the man said almost too low to hear, a slight accent to his words. Spanish perhaps. “I’m going to do your front.”

“I wouldn’t if I were you, just saying,” Jason said, keeping his voice low too. He didn’t really want to kick one of these little workers, he wanted Slade, or Camellia, or that guy with the drugged-up girl. 

“If you promise to let me do my job without attacking me, maybe I could loosen the cuffs a little?” The guy said, which seemed unbelievably foolish, but then he stepped into Jason’s space, so close Jason’s breath was ruffling his hair and the stupid feathers stuck on the front of the mask like some sort of haphazard fancy dress. He sucked in a breath and the spicy scent of Dick’s shampoo suddenly hit him straight in the face. 

Oh thank  _ God _ . 

“Get me out!” Jason whispered.

“I  _ will _ , just give me a moment to think this through,” Dick muttered back, still with the accent, damned method actor. He was also still moving the wash cloth over Jason's skin, making goose bumps rise over every pass. 

Now he knew it was Dick it was astonishing that he hadn’t recognised him, but Dick seemed to be able to mould his body language and behaviour so completely that it was as though he was a different person when he was in character. Jason was familiar with the technique, but couldn't pull it off with quite so little apparent effort. 

“Well, hurry.”

“We have to do this carefully. I won’t leave you though, just give me a moment, while I think - we need a distraction.”

“I could kick you?”

Jason was sure he could here Dick’s eyes roll. “Please don’t.”

Suddenly, like the answer to his prayers, the fire alarm started blaring. 

“Huh,” Dick said, “That will do.”

People were milling about in confusion, but they weren’t panicking yet. Camellia strode off to see what was going on, and Dick went to work on the cuffs without any further ado. 

“You can’t do that!” One of the guests said. Jason decided to introduce him to the toe of his boot at the earliest opportunity. 

Dick shrugged a graceful shoulder, turning his attention to the second cuff. “If there’s a fire - or worse, a raid - do you want him strung up for the cops to find? Dead or alive, its a bit damning, don’t you think?”

At the word raid, the man’s eyes widened in fear, and he glanced towards the entrence. Just then the servants door at the other end of the room burst open, and a billow of smoke poured out. People began screaming and running; a heaving mass of people fighting for the clear exit. 

Jason was free, and he and Dick attempted to join the scrum, but it really was a maelstrom and Jason almost went under, Dick's grip on his hand dropped away as they were forcibly separated by a horde of terrified perverts. Jason was pushed halfway down the stairs, but he had no idea if Dick was in front or behind him. If he had made it down he would be clear, but if he was behind, he might have been trapped or hurt. He started elbowing his way back up the stairs, pushing past other people – even if Dick was safe, now he was in control of himself again, he realised that he had also no idea if the drugged out girl had been taken down or had been left on the sofa – he assumed Dick would not have left her if she had been, but he had to check. 

The top room was empty, the girl was gone. The smoke was still billowing, but there was no smell of fire. Fake. It had to be Slade. Jason stormed towards the servant entrance and flung open the doors. Lots of smoke, no heat, no crackle, no smell of burning. He headed down the back stairs which were thankfully clear of people. 

Fucking Slade. Was this part of his plan all along? He was planning to rescue Jason when his work was done? How did Dick fit in? Did Slade know he was going to be here.

_ ‘Sometimes the kid just needs a kick up the butt’ _ . Oh yeah, Slade knew – Jason wasn’t bait for these freaks, he was bait for  _ Dick _ . 

That fucking bastard.

He stumbled from the building without seeing another person – the back entrance no doubt, in a dirty ally full of dumpsters. He could hear the screaming from the other side, and the blaring of a fire engine getting closer. 

“Have fun?” Slade asked, as he stepped from the shadows. 

Jason didn’t bother to reply, he just threw a punch, which Slade dodged with ease. If he had a gun he just would have shot the fucker, but sadly all he had was his fists. He tried again, only to have the blow deflected. Slade didn’t seem upset, surprised or even smug. It was worse; he had an expression on his face that indicated he thought Jason was acting like a child; emotional, weak.

Well fuck him. Jason threw himself into the fray, he didn’t have Slade's strength and speed, but he’d been scrapping since he first learnt to walk and Slade was hard pressed to avoid all his blows. Things got more interesting when Slade was forced to twist to catch a kick from Jason and simultaneously prevent a punch to the back of the head from Dick who seemed to have materialised out of thin air. Slade had stopped the impact from both of them – but he only had so many hands, and if Jason was pissed, Dick was bordering on apocalyptic in his anger, his left-handed punch landed with a satisfying crunch which made Slade grunt and step back, holding his nose. 

“Ouch,” he said, “nice to see you too, kid.” 

Dick stalked towards him. He’d lost his mask, and looked sweaty and stunning, but mostly incandescent with rage. “What the  _ fuck _ ?” he said. Jason had to agree with the sentiment.

“Lets have this discussion somewhere less obvious shall we?” Slade said, somewhat nasally – good, hopefully his broken nose was already healing and they would have to break it again to reset it properly.

Jason was down with pressing the advantage and beating the shit out of the old goat, but Dick waved a hand sharply, his anger obvious in the motion. “Fine, let’s get off the street before I fucking pulverise the pair of you.” He was glaring at Jason now, and what the fuck had he done? Other than act like a complete amateur fool and get his ass thoroughly manipulated by Deathstroke… Which yeah that was probably worth a glare or two and probably a smack upside the head. 

The walk back to the safe house was made in furious silence, save for a sound that Jason was concerned was the grinding of Dick's teeth. Damn he was angry. Jason himself was still vibrating with adrenaline and the sticky-slick residue of fear. That could have been bad. It was already going to give him nightmares for weeks. Mixed with the feeling of deep, sickening shame – for both letting himself be put in that situation, panicking and then being rescued by Dick, of all people. He still felt vulnerable and exposed. He wanted to break Slade's craggy face and poke out his other eye, break his limbs and hang  _ him _ up like a piece of meat – see how he liked it.

But he was also angry at Dick. He knew it wasn’t rational, he was just feeling so humiliated he didn’t know how else to deal with it. He didn’t actually want to break Dick's face – not much anyway. He was so weirdly conflicted over his feelings and he hated it.

Slade ushered them inside the apartment and Dick didn’t waste a second before he started yelling. He spun to face Jason and jabbed him in his bare chest with a stiff finger. “Why the hell are you here? Did you think I needed your damn help so much you stalked me to a different city?”

Jason opened his mouth to reply but then Dick poked him again, harder and backed him up against the door. “Do you think that I’m so shit at my job I need unsolicited back up? Looked like I wasn’t the one needed rescuing!” 

Jason shoved him back, he was done with people invading his personal space for this evening. “Arrogant much? I didn’t even know you were fucking here, dickhead – what with you pulling a disappearing act on us all!”

“Us? You one of the family now, Jason?” Dicks lips twisted into an ugly parody of a smile, “Doesn’t ever take you long to step into my shoes does it?

And here was the thing about Dick. People were always surprised the first time they saw him really pop off – Duke had been downright incredulous of his rumoured temper until he had seen him explode with rage. Not Jason, though. He had known that violence was under the surface. Growing up like he had, he’d learnt very early to spot the tiny signs in a person’s demeanour; that coiled fury hidden behind tense smiles. Violence was a wonderful educator. When he’d seen Bruce and Dick go at it, he hadn’t been surprised at all, had expected it turned on him. But Dick had never hit him when he was a kid, never even threatened him – all of that was directed towards Bruce – but damn if he couldn’t flay you open with his tongue just as good, and that had hurt more, somehow. Not that Jason hadn’t given as good as he got and, unlike Dick, he had never apologised after saying something cruel: Dick had deserved it, in his mind, so he would rather cut his own tongue out than pacify him with apologies he didn’t feel. Dick, being Dick, had taken that with good grace – once his temper cooled he really was a kind and decent person. Didn’t stop that spite coming out when he was riled though. Case in point. 

“Really, Dick? This is where were taking this, you jackass? Your stupid little Bats and Birds are worried about you, but you make this about  _ me _ trying to steal them away or some shit? You  _ left _ them.”  _ Left me. _

“You were so deep in my business you were practically living up my ass, Jason – I needed a break from your hovering.”

“So you just went off by yourself to infiltrate a serious criminal syndicate?”

“I’ve been doing this since I was nine!”

“Boys,” Slade interjected mildly, as Jason shoved Dick away from him again because, okay,  _ now _ he wanted to smack him in his stupid pretty face.

“You shut up, old man. This is your fault – you knew he was here, didn’t you? You used me as bait!”

“You did  _ what _ ?” Now Dick was after Slade again, Jason was ashamed to realise how relieved that made him. His emotions were just too highly strung after the evening he’d had.

“I used him as bait. Very attractive bait,” Slade admitted easily, and Dick's eyes swung back to Jason and flickered over his bare chest, the tight pull of the leather pants over his thighs. Jason flushed, despite himself.

“You  _ used _ him? You had him strung up like a cat toy! Anything could have happened! If you wanted my attention, you could have just spoken to me!”

“It was for a duel purpose; to engage you – as I knew you would have to get involved if he was in peril - and for the people running the show. For them I needed a distraction. Red here was perfect. And he owed me. 

“Why? Why the fuck would you do that?”

“You need help, kid. Not with the case, you had that in hand, but in general.”

Jason thought Slade was rather taking his life into his own hands with that one. 

“Fuck you! How dare you give me advice on my emotional state!” Dick snarled. 

“I didn’t.”

Jason was pretty done with this circular argument of accusations. He wasn’t going to forget Slade's betrayal in a hurry, but right now he really and truly needed to wash the grime off himself - not to mention the feel of peoples eyes and hands on him. The adrenaline comedown was hitting him hard too, and he felt like he might puke. 

“I’m gonna catch a shower,” he said to the room in general. “Don’t kill each other.” He grabbed up his clothes and phone and headed into the small bathroom. 

Through the door he could still hear Dick yelling. He didn’t seem to be running out of things to say, or getting a sore throat from the volume. It was a good thing this neighbourhood was so shit or someone might have called the cops. 

Jason peeled off the leather pants. The damn things had left marks from the in-seams – never again was he going to wear those instruments of torture. He wanted to burn them. He turned the shower on to let it heat up and sat on the toilet to scroll through the news, he wondered what kind of story they had cooked up about the fire that never was. 

He had twenty one missed calls from Bruce, three from Alfred and thirteen terse messages - all in the vein of: Get here now. Come to the cave. Come alone.  _ Now _ Jason. 

That did not sound good. Nor did it seem like the problem was that Bruce knew he was with Slade. This was more little birds dying or dead kind of stuff. Alien invasion. Something terrible. 

Why him though? Maybe Dick had the same on his phone, back wherever he had left it. Except Bruce said come alone. There was a very, very bad feeling collecting his his gut and adrenaline was spiking again, making him feel even sicker. 

He texted: o _ n my way. Wanna tell me why? _

He didn’t expect an answer. Bruce was abysmal at answering messages even on a good day, and Jason suspected this was not a good day. Reluctantly he got dressed without showering. At least he was in clean clothes and not torture pants. For once he was going to respect B’s wishes and keep the message to himself - he really couldn’t face a Bat vs Dick showdown tonight. 

Dick was  _ still _ shouting, his face red while his arms waved all over the place. Slade stood impassively, but his arms were now crossed over his chest in a defensive manner. Even he wasn’t immune to a good tongue lashing, apparently. 

Anyway, they seemed fine. 

“I gotta go.”

“Go where? Jason? You look pale, are you okay?” Dick reached for him, concern showing through the truly impressive tantrum he’d had going on. 

Jason caught his hand before it touched him. “Look, I’ve had a fucking shit day, I just need to get away for a bit. I’ll be back my morning, alright?”

“Are you sure, Jay?” Back to the pet names. Clearly he had been exonerated by everything being Slade’s fault.

“Yep, I’ll be fine. Instead of yelling at each other like a pair of alley cats, why don’t you two work on the case? We’ll go over it when I get back.”

“ _ I’m _ not screaming like an alley cat, or any other kind,” Slade said, coolly.

“Yeah, well Dickie can shriek loud enough for both of you.”

Dick's eyes narrowed again and Jason held up a had placatingly. “It was a joke, Dickface.” It wasn’t, but whatever. “Don’t kill each other, or fuck anything up while I’m gone.”

“Don’t count on it,” Dick growled.

“Maybe you need to eat, you always did have more of a temper with low blood sugar,” Slade said mildly. Which of course set Dick off again, advancing, stiff legged and bristling  _ just _ like an alley cat.

Jason took it for the distraction it was meant to be and slipped out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please heed the Warnings and the tags from here on out - there will be discussion of and descriptions of Non-Con, unhealthy coping mechanisms, violence and emotionally damaged people failing to deal. And Angst. Lots of that.

  
  


Jason didn’t bother taking the ugly car - he just jacked a bike from downtown, one that was sleek and fast. He could make it to Gotham in a couple of hours but he had a feeling it wasn’t going to be fast enough. His mind wouldn’t stop running over terrible scenarios: Were the kids all okay? Was the world about to end? Ridiculous that was on his list of reasons B might be calling him, but it wasn’t far fetched with the life they led. 

But why come alone? Had he contacted the others too? Was there one person being excluded or was it every one  _ but _ Jason. And if so, why?

It was not a pleasant trip.

He had half convinced himself that the manor would be on fire when he arrived, but it was still standing, tall and gloomy as always. 

Maybe he was just letting the residue of his own fear rule him, perhaps B  _ was _ just pissed at him working with Deathstroke – it would make sense that he would be ordered to come alone to get a smack down. 

But one look at Alfred’s face when he opened the door was enough to shut that line of thought down. He looked awful, grief stricken. 

“Who, who’s dead?” Jason blurted. How was this going to impact Dick?. How was it going to impact  _ him _ ? And Bruce – didn’t matter who, it was going to be awful. God he hoped it wasn’t… well any of them. Not that he would ever admit that out loud. 

Alfred reached out a hand to him, no doubt the panic was all over his face. “No one is dead, Master Jason. I’m sorry to worry you so.”

“Then what? Are you sick? Is Bruce? Is it aliens again?”

“No, no nothing like that. Come inside, and let me explain.”

“You’re scaring the shit out of me right now, Alf. I’ve had a very,  _ very  _ trying day, and I’m going to lose my damn mind in a moment.”

“I’m sorry, Master Jason.” Alfred ushered him inside where he stood in the hallway, squinting at all the familiar trappings. “Master Bruce is a little overwrought at the moment, and I suspect it would be best if you wait for him up here. I shall let him know you have arrived.”

That look on Alfred’s face was too much; he couldn't go another second without getting some answers and Jason  _ knew _ Bruce, knew all his tricks. He was going to be pissed Jason had taken so long to respond to his calls and he was going to punish him by making him wait up here, slowly going out of his mind. It wasn’t going to happen. He didn't have the emotional fortitude for it tonight - or was it this morning now?

“I’m going down,” he said, squirming away from Alfred’s guiding hands.

“Master Jason, wait!” Alfred reached for him, but he was already though the secret door and clattering down the stairs to the cave. 

When he reached the bottom, he spotted Bruce immediately – he was suited up of course, because naturally he would want to face any emotional challenges with a mask on. He was standing stiffly, looking up at the big screen. 

On the screen was Dick. One man holding him down with a boot to the back, while another fucked him, with sharp, vicious thrusts. 

Jason felt the floor fall out from under him. This.... this, he had not been prepared for. 

His mind was taking in the details, despite his shock. He recognised the room as the one he had rescued Dick from in Santa Prisca, he noted the jerky camera movements – that was taken on a phone rather than the security feed. That’s why Slade missed it. Damn. But why the fuck did Bruce have it? How?

Jason was momently struck dumb with horror. On the screen, one of the men lifted Dick's head by the hair, turning his face to expose it to the camera. Dick's eyes were glassy with the drugs, his mouth slack and open. There were tear tracks on his dirty cheeks. 

This was like a nightmare;  _ worse _ than the nightmares. Jason pinched himself, hard – just in case - because he sure as shit wished he could wake up and unsee  _ that _ . He must have made a noise, because Bruce turned to him – face still hidden by the damn cowl, but transmitting his fury as clear as if he was bare faced and screaming. 

“Did you know?” Bruce asked, voice low and tight.

“Turn it off, for fucks sake!” Jason shouted. “Turn it off!” He couldn’t take his eyes off it.

“Did you  _ know _ ?” Bruce advanced, radiating violence. And fuck, Jason would welcome a punch to the face right now – and B sure looked like he needed to throw some. 

Behind him, on the screen, the men had dragged Dick off the filthy mattress and to the opposite wall, where Jason had found the condoms in the pile of trash. Dick was curled into a ball, while one of the men pissed on him. The rest were laughing.

Jason retched, his vision going a little fuzzy and his chest tight, like it was caught in a vice. As he wobbled a little on his feet, he clinically noted the symptoms: He was having a panic attack. 

Bruce was looking at him in fury one moment, and the next Jason was sitting on the floor, leaning back against something solid. 

“How could you, Master Bruce?”

Alfred. He was leaning on Alfred’s legs. 

“Your anger and grief is no excuse for this – it’s cruel to both the boys, and heaven knows what else they have been though.”

Bruce said nothing, but Jason fancied he could sense regret. 

“I knew,” Jason said, hoarsely, “Didn’t see, but I knew.”

Alfred brushed a hand tenderly over Jason's sweaty hair. The old man was pretty strong, staying steady with Jason's full wait leaning against him. He should probably sit up, but he couldn’t quite manage it. 

“Is Dick aware that you knew what had happened?” Alfred asked gently. 

“Yeah. He wanted me to keep it secret – and as its nobody's damn business but his, I respected that.” Behind Bruce the screen was blessedly dark. 

Bruce let out a shuddering sigh and pushed back the cowl. He didn’t look angry any more. He looked shocked and devastated. 

“You should have told me.”

“No, I shouldn’t.” 

“I could have looked for the footage. Recovered it, before...” He rubbed a hand through his hair, his gaze skittering away from Jason, perhaps with guilt over Jason's current state – perhaps unwilling to show the distress he obviously felt. 

“Slade did that,” Jason said. His voice was still lacking in strength, but it didn't sound like he had been gargling whisky and gravel any more. “He destroyed all the surveillance and tracked down the copies.”

“Well he missed some. Wait,  _ Slade _ knew?” 

Whoops, there was the anger back again. Jason couldn’t be bothered, he felt so completely wrung out he wanted to curl up and sleep – or would do, if he didn’t know the images that would be waiting for him

“Jason, why did Slade know about this? Was he involved in some way I don’t know about?”

“No, it was like we said - we bought his contract to get us out of Santa Prisca. He rescued us, and tended Dick’s injuries. He could hardly miss what had happened while doing field surgery. The bruises weren’t subtle.” Jason shrugged. “He was pissed about it. He likes Dick, in some weird way.”

Bruce grunted. “I’m aware of his… interest.” 

“Enough of this,” Alfred said, tugging Jason gently to his feet. “This isn’t a conversation one should have sitting on the floor.”

“Fuck,” Jason said, he knees shaking a little as he rose. God, he was a mess – and it wasn't even him that had gone through this shit. 

Alfred didn’t correct his language, that’s how bad he must have looked. Instead he ushered Jason towards a chair. “I think a cup of tea is in order,” he said. 

Jason's lips twitched up in spite of himself. There was no trauma in the world that couldn’t be aided slightly by a cup of tea in Alfred’s book. 

They sat, Bruce still in full Bat gear minus the cowl and Jason's skin still itching with the after effects of the whole clusterfuck on a night. He pulled one leg up to his chest defensively, the way he used to sit as a kid. Alfred handed him a mug of tea, sweeter than he usually took it, but he supposed it was ok seeing as he had just passed out on the floor. 

“Could Slade have let this slip through on purpose?” Bruce asked, sipping at his own tea – his voice was less emotional than before, but not cold. 

“No, I’m pretty sure about that. Slade might be willing to kill Dick in a fight, but I’m telling you, he was  _ pissed _ about this. Like, really angry. He has a code, as fucked up as it is, and this is not something he would do for cash. I’m certain of it.”

Bruce nodded slowly, so Jason pressed on. “This was taken on a phone. If whoever took it was already gone from the compound when Slade went back to wipe the footage, there would have been no way for him to know.”

“Maybe if he had left some of them alive we could have questioned them and found out,” Bruce pointed out, not unfairly, but it still felt like a dig. 

“Yeah. Maybe, but maybe not.” Jason shrugged. “How’d you find it?”

Bruce's mouth pinched up. “I didn’t. I knew something had happened, on that mission – Dick's been acting distant, shutting himself off. But, it’s nothing he hasn’t done before, when working though his problems.” Bruce’s face took on a slightly wry expression. “He’s an emotional boy – I usually leave him too it, as long as he’s not endangering himself, otherwise he becomes unreasonable and … we argue.”

“Fight you mean.” Jason sighed, “You ever every thought maybe it’s the way you try to deal with things that makes him ‘unreasonable’? You’re always so closed off and cold and ‘ _ mission first, bitch. _ ’”

“I’m sure Master Bruce doesn’t usually use that particular vernacular.” Alfred admonished mildly. 

“Yeah, well it’s implied.” Jason shrugged again. “So you knew something was up, then what? Where’d you come across it?”

“It was sent to me in an email and on a data chip.”

“ _ Sent _ to you?” Jason’s blood ran cold. Blackmail was of course the obvious route for the assholes to take. He knew that, he wasn’t sure why he was surprised. 

“Yes. Along with instructions to pay a large sum of money, or it was going to be released online. They were efficient – they had a good idea of how much money I could liquidate in a very small time frame.”

“How small?” Jason asked.

“Two hours.”

“Two? That’s tight.”

“Yes, less money, but not enough time for law enforcement to get everything set up, so safer for the criminals.”

“You paid it right? Tell me you paid it?”

“Of course – I don’t pay ransoms, as a rule, but… there is hours and hours of that footage, each frame more degrading and horrific than the last.” Bruce shuddered. Passing a hand before his eyes, like he was trying to smudge away the images still lingering there.  “I began tracking the money of course – it’s still moving, the set up is very sophisticated - but then, they don’t know what tools  _ I  _ have at my disposal.”

“There’s a  _ but  _ coming isn’t there?” Jason said, resigned to things being more awful than they already were.

“That happened six hours ago. One hour after I paid, we received this.” He passed Jason his tablet. 

Jason's hands were shaking. He had been wrong, he wasn’t prepared for it to get any worse. It was an email, it read:

_ I hope your little slut enjoys his fifteen minutes – tell him it’s payback for what happened to my brother _

Jason shut his eyes against the sudden pounding in his head. “They released it anyway?” His voice felt far away.

“They did.”

“I called Gordon and he’s trying to arrange a press embargo – but clips are on the internet already, heavily edited and uploaded to free porn sites. It’s impossible to stop it getting out.”

“B, we have to warn Dick. He needs to be prepared.”

“It might be too late. He’s not answering his phone and his Coms are off - he removed his tracker before he left. I don’t know where he is,” Bruce said, and there was fear in his voice now, well hidden, but there. 

“He’s alright, Bruce, he’s in New York with er, Slade.”

“He’s with  _ Slade _ ?” 

Jason rubbed at his forehead. This was awkward. “Yeah, the three of us sort of intersected on the same case.”

“Sort of,” Bruce said flatly. “What case?”

“Trafficking, what else does Dick go after these days?”

“And you left him there? With all this going on?”

“All what?” Jason waved a hand angrily, “You weren’t exactly forthcoming with your ‘Jason, get here now’ messages were you? I came because you asked me too.” Bruce’s mouth thinned, but Jason continued regardless. “And besides, in this, and perhaps a very select other few insistences, I trust Slade when it comes to Dick. In some weird way I think this whole case was about helping him out because he’s been feeling crappy. Kind of like how a cat leaves you a chewed mouse as a gift and expects you to be grateful.” 

Bruce was looking at him doubtfully. “And you’re sure the case you are working on is the ‘mouse’ in this scenario?”

“Er, yeah.” Actually he was pretty sure  _ he _ was the mouse in this scenario. But whatever. 

“Perhaps you should check in with Master Dick?” Alfred suggested, before Bruce could continue his interrogation.

“Right.” Jason took out his phone and called Slade. Very aware of Bruce's eyes on him as he did so, narrowed and distrustful. But he knew it was Deathstroke who was the real recipient of that scowl so he didn’t take it personal. 

Slade picked up on the second ring. “Checking up on us already, Red? It’s only been two hours. He only just stopped trying to make my ears bleed with his ranting.”

“Is he still there?”

“Yes, he’s taking a shower. You sound stressed, what’s going on?”

Right to the point, but Jason wasn’t even sure what to say. “Can he hear us?”

“Not unless he has super hearing. I just told you, he’s in the shower.” Asshole.

“You missed some footage in your clear up of ZK12. Taken on a phone.”

The silence over the line was almost palpable, it felt like a living thing waiting to take shape. “What’s the damage?” Slade asked at last. Always practical.

“Catastrophic. It’s on the internet, released to the media, probably sent it to his job. They sent it to Bruce.” Jason took a steadying breath. “His face is visible, there’s not going to be any hiding it.”

“Shit.”

“My thoughts exactly.” 

“Should I tell him?” Slade asked, straight up. The thought had merit – from the standpoint that Jason didn’t want to deal with this, his feelings, Dick’s feelings,  _ Bruce’s.  _ Fuck this was going to be that actual worst. But, he knew, deep down, that it should be him that spoke to Dick. That this was something that in some fucked up way they shared. 

“No,” he said after a pause that was probably too long. “I need to be the one to talk to him. I’m on my way, keep him there and do what you have to to keep him off his phone, the Coms – anything, and I’ll be there soon.”

“You make that sound like something easy to do, to make him do anything I want without a fight.” It almost sounded like a whine. 

“You’re a big, bad, super assassin - I’m sure you can handle one grumpy and suspicious little vigilante.”

Slade snorted and put the phone down. Not in a chatty mood. But then, neither was Jason. 

“I’m going too,” Bruce said.

“No, B, you’re not.” It wasn’t that Jason thought Bruce was going behave badly, as such, but his ability to deal with his own emotions constructively was as about as good as Jason's, and his ability with dealing with  _ other _ people’s emotions, was actually, somehow, worse, and Jason was a fucking disaster. 

So, no. 

Bruce shook his head, his cowl-mussed hair sticking up in sweaty tufts. “I am. He’s my son. And aside from needing to see that he is okay, it will help him to go over strategies to deal with the fall out, the media particularly. I can at least offer that, if not the comfort he needs.” Which might have been the most self aware thing Jason had ever heard Bruce say. Or perhaps he wasn’t being fair, perhaps this was the only time he had noticed it – now when it wasn’t about them, and their own issues, but about someone they both cared about. And when did he start admitting  _ that _ to himself? 

“Can I stop you?” he asked, resigned. “Short of shooting out your knee caps?” 

Bruce ran a hand over his face “I understand your reservations, and I... I won’t speak to him right away. I’ll let you do that if you think it’s for the best.”

“Jeeze B, being sensible? You must be traumatized.” He wasn’t kidding - the last time Bruce had heeded his advice that way was never. Still, why quit while he was ahead? “But seeing as we’re on the subject, you need to change. It’s Bruce he needs, not the Bat.”

Bruce nodded and closed his eyes briefly, before standing. Instead of going for the showers right away, he surprised Jason by stepping into his space – something he did not do often. Slightly unsettled Jason stood too, and Bruce put a heavy hand on his shoulder. 

“Jason, I’m sorry for letting you walk in on that. For both of your sakes – it was not my intention to cause harm. I wasn’t thinking straight in my anger. I know It must have been very hard for you, keeping this secret and having to deal with it yourself.”

Jason just nodded, too choked up to say anything, too many intense emotions made his head spin, and he already felt like he was turned inside out. Bruce squeezed his shoulder, like he had when Jason first come to live with him and had objected strenuously touching in general. He had eventually relished Bruce’s rare hugs – but not as much as he had appreciated the boundaries that Bruce had respected. 

“I’ll change, then we will leave.”

As Bruce headed for the showers, Alfred reached out to him as well. “Master Jason, thank you for your sensitivity when dealing with Master Dick, and Master Bruce too. This has shaken him to his core I think. Witnessing the torture of a loved one is a truly distressing experience, as well you know.”

“Yeah. Must have been unpleasant for you too, Alf.”

“I only saw a few moments, and those will haunt me for the rest of my days. I know Master Dick will be distressed about even that, and I would rather he not know.”

“He won’t hear it from me.” 

“That, I never doubted, Master Jason, but I appreciate your concern. Master Bruce has of course set himself to watching all of it – for the sake of collecting evidence. Not a task I envy, or truthfully one I feel he should undertake. But if not him, who else?” Alfred sighed, the lines of grief on his face not just for Dick. 

“Yeah,” Jason said, clasped the old man’s shoulder, the same way Bruce had done to him. He felt small and thin under Jason’s hand. “That’s going to suck, he’s going to need you to be there for him. The rest of us can be here for you.” 

“Speaking of which, we must also consider the rest of the family. It would be better they learn of what happened from us, rather than the news or the internet.”

Jason groaned. Shit fuck, Alf was right, of course. The kids would be back from patrol soon, and it was only a matter of time before both the press, and well meaning friends started calling. Perhaps it wouldn’t be that bad. It was shocking, of course, but the law  _ did _ still protect victims anonymity. They would not be able to mention him by name. It wouldn’t stop the gossip though. 

Jason considered briefly, and came to an unpleasant conclusion. “We probably don’t have time to wait until I’ve spoken to Dick.”

“Yes, I suspect you are right. Master Dick is going to be very upset about that.”

“Not as upset as he would be if Tim or Damian got a look at that footage.” 

“Very true. Perhaps half each?” 

It was a sensible idea; the older members would be easier, but telling the younger ones was going to be horrific. Damn it. At least Babs probably already knew, she was no doubt checking for authenticity before coming to Bruce. That would back things less complicated in the long run. “How about you do Babs, Kate and the out-of-towners. I’ll call in the brats over the Coms on the way.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow. It obviously didn’t make sense that way round, as the kids would all be heading back to the cave to report, but then he just nodded. “If you wish, Master Jason.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! Hopefully the next one will be quicker!

  
  


They began the drive in silence, waiting for the baby Bats and Birds to get home from patrol. The wait felt like eternity; they had been told to keep their Comms off and get back as soon as the city allowed, but Jason was itching to call them and tell them to hurry the fuck up already. 

However, Gotham had always been a fickle mistress and it only took twenty minutes before the call came in and the screen in the car buzzed to life, revealing Tim’s unmasked face. His hair was squished mostly flat and his lower jaw was grubby and slightly blood-spattered – it was a testament to how concerned they had been by the message that all he’d bothered to do was take off the Red Robin cowl. 

“Jason? What’s going on? Where are you? Where’s Bruce?”

“You going to stop peppering me with questions and let me answer some?” Jason asked, but for once he could relate – he had been in a similar state of panic only an hour or so ago. 

“Sorry,” Tim said. He didn’t sound sorry, didn’t look it either, with his eyebrows drawn together in an impatient scowl. 

“Todd! what’s going on? Where are you? Where’s father?” Damian came into view, mask still only half off his face. “Why didn’t you wait for us, Drake?”

Jason sighed. “I’m only going to say this shit once, so gather the rest of them please.” 

“Please?” Steph said, her blond head popping into view. “Must be serious if you’re being  _ polite. _ ”

“Go fuck yourself, Brown.” Jason said, reflexively, and she grinned. Tim’s phone started ringing, and so did Bruce’s line in the cave. “Don’t answer that,” he said as Tim’s hand twitched towards it.

“Why? Jason, what’s going on?” Tim asked, eyes apprehensive, and brow furrowed. His big annoying brain no doubt trying to add everything together to come up with an answer. “Is it Dick or Bruce?” he asked after a moment.

“I’m here, Tim,” Bruce rumbled from the driver’s seat, his eyes still on the road and his jaw clenched hard enough to make the muscles jump under his skin.

“What’s happened to Grayson? Todd, answer!” Damian demanded, pushing Tim out of the way again. 

“He’s okay- well, he’s in one piece anyway,” Jason assured them. It didn’t relax them any. 

“Why are you keeping us of the phone and Comms?” Tim again. God the kid was relentless - not a kid, really, but Jason figured the age difference between them was a lot in Bat years. 

“We’re here,” Cass said as she and Duke brought up the rear. Cassandra was cradling Alfred-The-Cat in her arms, all his paws in the air with none of his usual dignity. At least someone was happy. 

Jason steeled himself, it didn’t help. “Okay, this shit is nasty, and breaking Dick's confidence because I haven’t spoken to him yet – but we don’t have time before the shit starts to hit the fan.”

“Tell us, Todd!”

“Is he sick?” Steph asked.

“Why the lack of time? What’s with the phone ringing off the hook?” Tim again.

“Todd!” 

Jason wanted to reach through the screen and throttle them all into silence. He wasn’t the only one apparently but Cass, unsurprisingly, had more tact than him as she wordlessly handed the cat to Damian, who took it reflexively curling it up in his arms securely. It seemed to calm him a little. The cat seemed happy with his new position and nudged under Damian’s, chin, it’s purring loud enough to carry over the speakers, and Cass put a light hand on Tim’s shoulder. He seemed to take the hint and shut his mouth on the next batch of questions.

“Thank you. Now will you guys stay quiet long enough for me to tell you? This is hard enough as it is,” Jason said. God he was tired, but adrenaline was still running though his system making his nerves spark and his heart beat fast in a sickly rhythm. 

“Go ahead, Jason,” Duke offered. The newest member and the least emotionally invested, so therefore the most level headed, but Jason noticed he was still tense with anxiety. Family was family, after all. 

“Some nasty shit went down on the last mission we were on together and the media have gotten hold of it,” Jason said. That was the easy bit. 

“The torture?” Tim asked, something in the stillness of his face made Jason fight back a shiver. “Or something else? Was someone killed?”

“No one died that didn't deserve it,” Jason snapped, “and none by Dick's hand.” Because that’s what they really meant - heaven forbid the Golden boy offed someone. 

“Then what’s got everyone so worked up?” Tim’s brows were furrowed even deeper, working through the possibilities. 

“Did someone find out who he is?” Duke asked, then blinked. “Do we have a contingency plan for that? I feel like that’s something I should know about.”

“As far as I know, the contingency plan is to run and hide. That’s  _ my _ plan anyway,” Steph offered, clapping Duke on the shoulder. “I've even got a bolt hole planned – you can come with me and Cass if you want!”

“Will you jackasses shut up and let me tell you?” Jason all but snarled.

They all fell into expectant silence – broken only by the shameless cat purring up a storm. 

But Jason suddenly found he didn’t have the words, he just stared at the screen numbly with his mouth hanging half open and his eyes on Damian. How could he even think to tell him this? It wasn’t like the boy hadn't dealt with the victims of sexual violence before – but it had never been one of  _ them _ .

“It was the torture?” Cassandra said quietly, into the confused silence.

Jason nodded and cleared his throat. “Yeah. It was bad, very bad. They recorded it and someone tried to blackmail Bruce with it. He paid them, but they released the footage anyway. Hence the phone ringing off the hook. Apart from the press, the League, the Mini League and the Tiny Titans will probably be swarming the place soon. Anyone who knows Dick Grayson.”

“Grayson has been tortured before, it’s been in the media before – he was kidnapped at least twice a year as a child,” Damian snapped. 

But by the look in Tim’s eyes he had come to what was probably the correct conclusion. He was pale, and there was tension in his jaw that looked eerily like Bruce’s. His gaze cut to Damian, clearly having the same doubts as Jason, but there was going to be no hiding it soon.

“It was…?” Tim paused, clearly considering his words, while Damian switched his glare from Jason to him. 

“Sexual in nature?” Cassandra, blessing to the family, said quiet and careful. 

“Yeah, it was,” Jason cut in before the shouting started. “So listen up – it has been released to the media, we don’t know yet how they are going to take that, or exactly what footage has gone where-”

“Todd!” 

“Damian, give me a second to lay it out before you have an aneurysm, okay? We don’t know how it’s going to pan out. Dick doesn’t know what’s happened yet.”  _ Hopefully _ , fuck knows if even Slade was up for stopping him storming out without hog tying him – which would be bad in the current circumstances. 

Damian growled, but fell silent, so Jason continued. “Bruce and I are on the way to see him now. I’ll update you once I’ve spoken to him. He’s going to be … upset that I’ve told you, but any of you seeing that footage or finding out from the media would be way worse. So I’ll take the lashing for this one.” He held up a finger, once again forestalling the imminent explosion. Tim was pale, apart from flushed cheeks, and Damian was holding the cat a little tighter than looked comfortable for it.

It wasn’t going to get any better. 

“Number one: the most important thing, for Dick, is that  _ none _ of you see that footage. Respect that. Even you, Tim. We can discuss the next step when everyone is in the loop. Don’t answer the phone. Don’t speak to the media, obviously, but also hold off with the Super-douches who might come knocking. If you get cornered just ask for privacy.” He took a breath. When the fuck was this hellish night going to be over?

“I will start to deal with the media once we have spoken to Dick,” Bruce said, making Jason jump slightly. “And then we will start with damage control and locating the people who did this.” 

“But,” Jason interjected before things could pop off again. “Dick is going to be lead on this, provided he can be sensible. That means none of you hare off to do anything until he’s spoken to you, he has to be in charge of what we do next – for his sake, got that?” 

“I understand,” Tim said, he looked furious, as did the rest of them – angry that this had happened to one of their own. Jason was sure they would  heed  his words. For tonight at least – tomorrow was anybody's guess.

Jason cut the call. He didn’t want to look at their hurt faces any more. “Well, that was fun,” he said into the tense silence. Not that it was  _ actually _ quiet, both of Bruce's phones and his Comms unit were all blaring, and Jason's was buzzing in his pocket like it was trying to drill a hole through the cloth. “Can we turn this shit off? Any emergency can wait or go to Kate or someone,” He grouched. 

Bruce nodded, fucking shocker, and gestured for Jason to deal with it. So he switched off the work phone and the Comms, before sliding a hand into Bruce's jacket pocket for his personal phone. Bruce's body was radiating heat against the back of his hand as he snagged it and the man was would so tight he was practicably vibrating to match the damn cell. 

“You going to keep your head in there, B?” Jason asked, flicking the phone to silent, and stuffing it on the dash with the others.

“Yes. I will follow your lead, Jason. I know Dick must have put a great deal of faith in you, which was obviously well placed. I trust you are doing what’s best for him – and that you probably have a better idea of what that is than I do at the moment.”

Wow, some big, important stuff there. Jason couldn't even start to unpack it, so he just nodded helplessly. 

Jason used his key to get into the apartment. Dick was on the sofa, arms crossed angrily. His gaze shot towards them as they entered, sharp as a knife. “What the  _ fuck _ , Jason! Why won’t he let me leave?” he jerked a thumb at Slade, who was leaning by the kitchen counter, his posture slightly defensive and a new bruise darkening one cheekbone. 

Jason had somehow forgotten Slade, and that he and Bruce in the same room might add another layer of potential disaster. 

“Bruce?” Dick asked, his demeanour changing from furious to freaked in a heartbeat. “What’s wrong? What’s happened? Is everyone okay?” It spoke volumes about their ‘family’ that each of them had the same reaction to any change in normal behaviour. Daddy Bats turning up unexpectedly: instant panic. 

“Well, this is a surprise,” Slade drawled as he and Bruce locked eyes and the air practically crackled with tension.

“Can it, Wilson,” Jason said, making one of Slade's eyebrows raise. “Dick and I need to talk – alone. And it would be useful if the two of you could dial it back a notch or six, and not get in a fight until later. Book a time next week for your showdown -preferably somewhere else.” Now all  _ three _ of them had an eyebrow raised at him. Oh well, may as well go all in. “In fact, Wilson, why don’t you head to Dick’s safe house and get on with the case. I’ll call you. Bruce...”

“I’ll wait in the car,” Bruce said, nodding, although his face was twitching slightly, probably with the effort of holding back over being given orders. “Dick, let me know if you are ready to talk,” he said, but didn’t actually make a move to leave, his eyes still on Slade. 

After a long, annoying moment, Slade straightened from his position on the counter, and Bruce's posture shifted to something ready for a fight. “Bossy, isn’t he?” Slade asked, mildly. “You do seem to raise them that way.” His gaze cut to Dick, and Bruce  _ bristled.  _ Slade ignored him _. _ “We’ll catch up later, kid. Text me the address.” He walked past Bruce casually, his disinterest intended to be an insult, but not one Bruce seemed to care about. He just wanted the man away from Dick it seemed. 

Either way, the air felt a little lighter after he was gone. Bruce, suddenly awkward after all that Alpha male posturing bullshit, followed soon after, leaving Dick looking pale, frightened and uncharacteristically quiet and Jason once again gaping like a fish as he was unable to get his words out.

It was amazing, how easily Jason’s discomfort could turn to irritation and anger – but Dick was giving him a run for his money as emotional whiplash champ. His eyes narrowed again as he waited for Jason to speak. “Dickie, we need to talk,” Jason offered, as a play for time. 

“Yeah, I got that,” Dick snapped. “Are you going to just keep me in suspense?” he seemed to be attempting to pull back the anger, reining it in with obvious difficulty, and trying to think through his agitation, “Wait, are you okay, Jason? Has something happened? Why is Bruce here? Why are you ‘talking’ to me and not him?” He made obnoxious air quotes when he said ‘talking’ and it was strangely endearing. 

Jason flopped into the chair on the other side of the coffee table. “What is it with this family? You going to stop talking long enough for me to actually answer some of your questions?”

Dick seemed to bite back the flow of words, by literally holding his bottom lip between his teeth. But the eyebrow raise that went with it conveyed his impatience pretty eloquently.

“Something’s, umm, come up,” Jason said, very smooth. 

“Again, I got that much, Jason,” Dick snarked back. He was the most annoying person ever. But perhaps he was right. There wasn’t going to be any way to lessen the blow or to sugar coat it.

“Fine. When you were captured in Santa Prisca, someone took footage of everything they did. Slade went back and cleared the security stuff, but this was taken on a phone. ZK12, or what was left of it, approached Bruce for a ransom. He paid it. Then they released the footage onto the web anyway. Don’t know any more than that yet. But judging by call level we’ve been ignoring, it has not gone unnoticed.”

Dick was pale and staring at him, his eyes huge and blank, but in for a penny, in for a pound, as Alfred liked to say. “Given the situation, we _... I... _ thought it best - what with the media and the  _ community  _ who might be concerned about you - that the family should know right away. Without warning they would have seen that footage, when some well meaning asshat sent it in their direction or after they got hounded by the press. So I told them all.”

Without changing facial expression, Dick got up and walked stiffly to the bathroom. He didn’t slam the door, but the click as it closed behind him felt louder than a shout. 

Jason breathed out, sucked in air again. Life went on. He got to his feet and headed for the kitchenette. There was no kettle, so he was going to have to microwave the tea, which was a sin that was worthy of excommunication in Alfred’s eyes, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. And, like himself, Dick had been brought up with tea as a source of grandfatherly comfort. He eyed the microwave and tried not to listen the sounds of vomiting coming from the bathroom. Somehow microwaved tea didn’t seem right, given the level of trauma. He put a pot of water on the stove and set to boiling it, while he dug out tea bags, milk and sugar.

By the time Dick emerged from the bathroom, still pale and with his hair wet from another shower, Jason had a pretty decent cup of tea ready for him, and passed over the mug without a word. What was there to say? 

Dick took a sip, his face easing slightly at the familiar taste. “So,” he said, sitting on the sofa and pulling his legs up to his chest, bare feet curled against each other. “We still have a bunch of trafficking victims to rescue and some bad guys to round up. I suggest we get on with doing that.”

Jason resisted rolling his eyes, because; holy displacement behaviour, Batman. “Yeah, we’ll get right back to that – but first, we’re going to have to think of a game plan for the other stuff.”

“What’s there to plan? B will deal with the media.”

“You not even going to bitch me out for telling everyone?” He had been expecting a tongue lashing at the very least, if not a punch to the face.

“No, it had to be done, and I don’t want to think about it right now. Not when we have a job to finish.”

“Yeah, and we will finish it, but first we need to at least think about what's going to happen now. There going to be fallout, Dick. You’re not going to be able to escape this, it might end up making your night job harder too.”

“So what? You want me to sit and talk about my feelings with you? Lie on the floor and cry?  _ Emigrate _ ? There is fuck all I can do about this shit right now, so what’s the God-damn point?”

Jason held up a hand, keeping an eye on the mug Dick was wielding – he looked like he was moments from hurling it all over Jason's face. “The last thing I want to do is to sit around discussing my feelings, your feelings or  _ anything _ that happened on that nightmare inducing mission. But I don’t think you can get away with just ignoring it completely -” he held up the other hand to forestall Dick's no doubt angry response- “but I do take your point we have a job to do, and we should do it, before we lose them. So I suggest we plan, together, and rescue the victims.”

“I want to take the lead.”

Of course he did, he  _ always _ wanted to take point. In this instance, Jason was going to let him – but he wasn’t going to give it up easy. “No, I’ve been working on this, I got crucified for this.”

Dick sneered, “You got tied to a St Andrews Cross and nearly got sold to slavers. Good job, definitely someone I want to follow into a complex situation.”

What a bitch. “You’re such a bitch, Dickhead. How do I know your head’s in the game? Huh? I mean, as much as you want to pretend it didn’t, some serious, fucked up shit just went down and that’s going to be hard to work around.” 

“The victims need my head in the game, so it will be!” Dick was now leaning over Jason's chair, in his face in a way that under other circumstances would have resulted in a broken nose. 

“Okay, fine, you take the lead. I trust you to compartmentalise when it counts.” Jason leant back, probably not quite far enough out of range for his next comment. “On one condition. You got to talk to B.”

“No.”

“Please? Otherwise he’s going to hang around with that stressed, hangdog look on his face until he snaps and says or does something really shitty. Why not just talk to him now and save the both of you the pain and the hair pulling angst that will inevitably follow?”

Dick barked out an ugly laugh, and shook his head. “ _ How _ many years have I been giving you that same advise? Which you have never, ever taken?”

“Annoying isn't it?”

Dick laughed again, it sounded like it was ripped from his throat without permission. “Sure as shit it’s annoying.” He rubbed a hand over his face, ruffling up his drying hair, which was curling a little around his ears. “I don’t want to talk to him, I don’t even want look at him.” He grimaced.

Jason could well understand. Dick must have known Bruce would have seen the footage, would be watching more of it. It was natural he would feel ashamed - not right perhaps, but very understandable - because in spite of his many, many faults Bruce was the person Dick looked up to and loved the most. “I know, I don’t blame you.” Jason tapped a finger on his chin in thought for a moment. “How about this, we get him to come up – you give him a hug and free reign to deal with the press, then tell him you can’t deal with anything until we’ve finished this job? If there is anything that man can understand, it’s a ‘mission first’ mentality.” That and ignoring your personal problems in the hopes they would go away. “That will buy you some time to get your head together.”

Dick looked at him, strangely blank again, then he shut his eyes tight and nodded. “Yes, thank you, Jason,” he said quietly. “Thank you – that’s what we’ll do. Will you tell him before he comes up? The less talking the less likely I am to fly apart,” he admitted.

“Sure thing, Dickie.”

As promised, Bruce was in the car, and he climbed out when Jason tapped on the glass. “Well?” he asked. He looked like he’d aged over the last hour, whether he had been looking into where the images had been released or watching the footage for clues, it had obviously not been a fun wait. 

“I told him, he’s upset and determined to ignore it all at least until the current mission is over.”

“Will he see me?”

Jason exhaled hard, and watched as his breath steamed in the frigid early morning air. “Yeah, as long as you keep it short and don’t push him to talk about it – just let him know you’ve got his back and that you’ll deal with the damage control and the press.”

“Thank you, Jason.” 

“Yeah, no problem.”  _ Both _ of them thanking him in one night? What kind of mirror verse lunacy was this? He was the sensible one doling out advice? Madness.

Jason followed Bruce back up to the apartment, but he stayed outside while they spoke. Some things should remain private. Also he didn’t think he could cope with the emotions that were no doubt flying around in there. Unfortunately that left him with time to think. All he could see behind his closed eyes were the images from the video, and every time it replayed in his mind he felt bile rise into his throat. 

This wasn’t going to be a thing that went away any time soon. But one thing he did know; the people in that footage, and anyone connected to it after – they had to die. And this time, it was going to be  _ him _ , not Slade, wielding the knife. But if he was honest, he could use the help tracking them down. After a quick internal debate, he took out his phone to touch base with the old goat. 

Mistake. There were thirty seven missed calls from Roy alone. His Whatsapp was out of control and the partitioned BatChat (so named by Steph) was almost as bad. Every damn member of the family seemed to have been attempting to contact him privately, and he was suddenly and unwillingly a member of seven new group chats with titles such as ‘Vengeance.’ (admin: Damian) and the ominously named ‘hunting’ (Admin; Cass) and, more sensibly ‘Contingency plans for when this shit goes south (Duke) Meanwhile, Tim seemed to have been added to all the groups and then had removed himself multiple times – he was clearly doing this his own way, which didn’t bode well. 

Jason was still deleting messages when Bruce emerged from the apartment. He looked composed, which could be good or bad – it was hard to tell with B. “Okay?” he asked, cautiously.

“Yes, that went as well as could be expected. We’ll speak tomorrow. Try to get some rest.”

“You too, old man.” Then Jason was alone in the hall, he didn't want to go it and face the next wave of trauma, but what choice did he have? 

Dick was back on the sofa, his eyes slightly red rimmed, but he did look better than he had done before his chat with Bruce, less pallid and shocky. “So, what’s the plan, Stan?”

Dick gave him a wan smile. “Finish the mission, while B deals with the mess.”

“Okay, good. We can do that. Is Wilson coming back?”

“Yeah he’s on his way.”

“How do you even know that? Isn’t your phone back at your own safe house?”

“Bruce just gave me a spare – just in case I didn’t get mine back until tomorrow, you know what he’s like.” Dick waved the phone in question.

“And I’ m assuming that B didn’t helpfully load up Wilson’s number for you to text?” Jason asked.

“Duh.”

“Should I ask why you have an assassins number memorized? Especially  _ that _ one?”

“Don’t be such a stick in the mud, I’m sure your address book is just full of villain’s numbers. You want to fill me in on your side of the investigation? Slade’s not exactly the most trustworthy source of information,” Dick paused, considering, “well, sometimes he is, as long as you accept he has his own agenda and will do whatever is necessary to achieve it.” 

“Yeah, that does mean he needs watching. He’s been hired to kill the murderers of some rich kid, who doesn’t sound like the world will mourn him much. He was either a douche or too dumb to live. Maybe both.”

“And you? Are you invested in the killing part?”

“Nope, it was my job to be a distraction. Apart from rescuing the victims in this organisation, I got no stakes in any of it.”

“Good, at least that puts us mostly on the same side. The Bat rules apply. Even if I really, really feel like beating the traffickers past the point of no return right now,” Dick muttered, grimly. 

“Yeah well don’t, we have enough messy trauma and angst to deal with without adding an extra layer of guilt and misery to our dance card.”

“Noted,” Dick said with a smirk that almost looked genuinely amused. 

They spoke a little longer, planning and throwing ideas around. While skirting widely around the elephant in the room, until Slade returned. He walked in without knocking, dumped all of Dick's gear on the kitchen counter and plunked down a bottle of scotch on the coffee table. 

Jason snatched it up and took a long drink from the bottle, before handing it over to Dick, who did the same.

“So” Slade said, leaning his bulk up against the counter. “Do you boys have a plan?”

“Carry on with the mission,” Dick said, calmly. Only his red rimmed eyes betraying any of the emotional trauma of the last few hours. 

“All of us?”

“If you want. But under my lead. Jason has already agreed,” Dick said.

Slade lifted a bushy white brow. “Has he now? I was under the impression he was working for me on this one.”

Jason scoffed, snatching the bottle out of Dick’s hands. “No way, old man. I’ve paid my debt in full with that club bullshit. Now I just want to see it through under my own terms.”

“And your terms are to be… under Grayson, are they?”

“Fuck you!”

“You can leave if you want, Wilson,” Dick interjected coolly, before the squabble could escalate. “Or we can work together and get this done more quickly.”

“It’s always a pleasure to watch you work, kid. I’m in – unless I think you’re planning something stupid and self-sacrificing, then I’m carrying your ass out and doing the job myself.”

“Fine. Let’s get to work.”

Slade sighed, a very put upon sound. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but neither of you boys have had any sleep for the past twenty four hours at least. That counts as planning something stupid. Rest, for five hours at least, and then we will get started, ready for tomorrow night.”

Dick looked mulish, but Jason agreed, as much as it galled him. He took another swig from the scotch. “I’m going to wash and hit the hay,” he said, handing the bottle to Dick as he scooped up his bag and headed for the small bathroom. 

He washed quickly, glad to finally scrape off the dirt, the feel of fear sweat and the residue of all the emotional shit he had been through. He still felt like crap though, just cleaner, and  when he emerged from the bathroom, dressed in sleep clothes and toweling his hair. Dick was slumped on the sofa, sleeping heavily.

Now it was Jason’s turn to sigh “Did you drug him?” he asked, tiredly. That would go down well in the morning. 

Slade grunted. “Do you think he would have slept without it? He can push himself for another day without rest, but he might get sloppy. I don’t work with sloppy people.”

“I can think of some folks you’ve worked with that might disprove that statement.” 

Slade snorted. “Put your boy to bed, brat. I’ll take the floor.” 

“Very good of you, Wilson,” Jason said, and Slade grunted again before he began to set up Jason's sleeping bag and gear to his own satisfaction. 

Jason looked at Dick. He didn’t look comfortable. Dick wasn’t as tall or bulky as him, and could twist his body in all sorts of interesting ways – but he was still not going to fit on that two seater sofa, and Jason certainly wasn’t, but he felt uncomfortable about sharing the bed without asking permission first. Which was stupid, because bunking down with another person when space was not available was completely normal. He’d even had to huddle for warmth with Tim and the Demon Spawn once. He had been afraid World War Three would break out over the top of him, what with the icy silence from Tim, his bony back generating barely any heat against Jason's flank, and the barbed comments coming from Damian on his other side, whose little body was radiating heat like a furnace. Perhaps he was fueled with the power of rage? Come to think of it, maybe that’s why on away missions, Dick always ended up sharing space with the tiny menace – it wasn’t because he was trying to keep the peace, it was because he was getting his own demon shaped hot water bottle. The bastard. 

He pulled himself back into the present, back to the task of making his brain work without allowing excess emotion to tug him down some random path. The basic fact of the matter was that treating Dick any different from the way he treated everybody else would piss him off, and even worse, would upset him on a more emotional level. So, bed sharing it was. 

Dick had less weight to him than he usually did – he always seemed to drop pounds under stress, although he still felt like a block of pure muscle which was not light. Luckily, Jason was pretty good at carting heavy-ass unconscious people around, so the short trip to the bed didn’t put his back out. 

Dick was already only dressed in a loose t-shirt and threadbare sweatpants, so Jason left him fully clothed as he tucked him in, and then slid under the covers himself. He left a distance between them, for his own comfort as well as Dick’s, although it wasn’t much room – it was not a large bed.

He lay there in the dark for a while, before pulling out his phone. It wasn’t like Dick was going to wake up. Slade immediately texted him from the other side of the room.

_ It’s bad, Red  _

_ Yeah, I figured  _ Jason texted back

_ He can’t ignore this for long _ . 

Jason wished he could see Slade’s face, but he’d set up his sleeping bag in the kitchen area and the counter was in the way. _ I know. But let’s do it his way for now. Then we’ll deal with the huge clusterfuck  _

_ You will deal with it. I have people to kill _

Jason was sure those people were the remanence of ZK12. Slade  _ liked _ Dick, and was pissed about what had happened to him – but also, and perhaps more importantly, his ego had been bruised, he had failed to find all the footage or kill all the people needed killing the last time. 

Jason suspected he wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. 

Of course, Jason was planning to get them first, and make them  _ suffer _ .


End file.
